About twelve miles from Zain we saw from a ridge a snakelike line of riders crossing the valley, which detachment we met half an hour later on the shore of a deep, swampy stream. The group consisted of Mongols, Buriats and Tibetans armed with Russian rifles. At the head of the column were two men, one of whom in a huge black Astrakhan and black felt cape with red Caucasian cowl on his shoulders blocked my road and, in a coarse, harsh voice, demanded of me: “Who are you, where are you from and where are you going?”

I gave also a laconic answer. They then said that they were a detachment of troops from Baron Ungern under the command of Captain Vandaloff. “I am Captain Bezrodnoff, military judge.”

Suddenly he laughed loudly. His insolent, stupid face did not please me and, bowing to the officers, I ordered my riders to move.

“Oh no!” he remonstrated, as he blocked the road again. “I cannot allow you to go farther. I want to have a long and serious conversation with you and you will have to come back to Zain for it.”

I protested and called attention to the letter of Colonel Kazagrandi, only to hear Bezrodnoff answer with coldness:

“This letter is a matter of Colonel Kazagrandi’s and to bring you back to Zain and talk with you is my affair. Now give me your weapon.”

But I could not yield to this demand, even though death were threatened.

“Listen,” I said. “Tell me frankly. Is yours really a detachment fighting against the Boisheviki or is it a Red contingent?”

“No, I assure you!” replied the Buriat officer Vandaloff, approaching me. “We have already been fighting the Bolsheviki for three years.”

“Then I cannot hand you my weapon,” I calmly replied. “I brought it from Soviet Siberia, have had many fights with this faithful weapon and now I am to be disarmed by White officers! It is an offence that I cannot allow.”

With these words I threw my rifle and my Mauser into the stream. The officers were confused. Bezrodnoff turned red with anger.

“I freed you and myself from humiliation,” I explained.

Bezrodnoff in silence turned his horse, the whole detachment of three hundred men passed immediately before me and only the last two riders stopped, ordered my Mongols to turn my cart round and then fell in behind my little group. So I was arrested! One of the horsemen behind me was a Russian and he told me that Bezrodnoff carried with him many death decrees. I was sure that mine was among them.

Stupid, very stupid! What was the use of fighting one’s way through Red detachments, of being frozen and hungry, of almost perishing in Tibet only to die from a bullet of one of Bezrodnoff’s Mongols? For such a pleasure it was not worth while to travel so long and so far! In every Siberian “Cheka” I could have had this end so joyfully accorded me.

When we arrived at Zain Shabi, my luggage was examined and Bezrodnoff began to question me in minutest detail about the events in Uliassutai. We talked about three hours, during which I tried to defend all the officers of Uliassutai, maintaining that one must not trust only the reports of Domojiroff. When our conversation was finished, the Captain stood up and offered his apologies for detaining me in my journey. Afterwards he presented me a fine Mauser with silver mountings on the handle and said:

“Your pride greatly pleased me. I beg you to receive this weapon as a memento of me.”

The following morning I set out anew from Zain Shabi, having in my pocket the laissez-passer of Bezrodnoff for his outposts.